


Whatever It Takes

by ImpalaDreams (impaladreams)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, Power Dynamics, Season 1, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impaladreams/pseuds/ImpalaDreams
Summary: Bellamy needs wristbands, Murphy needs motivation.





	Whatever It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic on my tumblr for years but I figured I would add it here! [Click here](http://imnobodysson.tumblr.com/post/116944273440/whatever-it-takes-word-count-1200-pairing) for a version you can reblog.

_Someone’s going to have to help me run this place._

The words, the promise they held, echoed through Murphy’s mind all afternoon. He’d never been in charge, not really. Thrown in the Skybox when he was too young, there was always someone older, bigger, more important, telling him what to do. Sure, he knew how to align himself with the right people, whose ass to kiss to stay in good graces where he had to, but none of that power was ever his to wield. He never got to call the shots.

Bellamy though, he offered something different. A chance. An opportunity to actually run something and have things go his way for a change. And all it would cost were some stupid wrist bands. That could motivate.

His own wrist band was the first to come off. Once he figured out how to remove them (it was easy, some scrap of metal twisted under the brace, hurt like a bitch but worked like a charm) he went after the easiest targets. Friends, other delinquents who could be easily persuaded – Jaha’s probably up there watching every time you take a piss. Bet they’ll just send some signal, kill us all once they have the info they want. You really going to help them? Each kid, each new reason, brought him another band and closer to earning his position as Bellamy’s right hand.

It wasn’t enough though. A handful of delinquents presumably keeling over on the ground, wouldn’t deter the Ark. He had to work harder, get more bands, the ones that mattered – from Clarke, Wells, the kids who had people that cared about them. It was the only way to keep the Ark away, keep them free, and stay in control. He had ideas, methods that might work, each a little darker and more desperate than the last, and he mulled them over in the fading light of dusk as he waited for Bellamy to come by for an update.

“You did well today. How many?” Bellamy’s praise broke the silence and drew his attention from his own thoughts, preoccupied with determining who else would have the balls to hold down Clarke to get her brace off. 

Murphy leaned against the tree behind him and looked at the wrist bands at his feet. “Ten. Not counting me and Mbege. Had to figure out how to get them off…”

Bellamy nodded in understanding. “We need more.”

“I know. I have some ideas.” One side of his mouth curled into a smile and eyes filled with a dark promise met the older boy’s.

“Good.”

Murphy could see the approval on the other’s face even through the dark that had settled around them. He could feel it, the satisfaction at Murphy’s accomplishment, the recognition that they would succeed, the determination, matched with his, to make it work, no matter the cost. Bellamy wanted his freedom as much as Murphy, would concede power for it, and it made the younger boy grow cocksure in his achievement. He tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. “Do I get a gold star now?”

He expected the scoff and forced amusement at the sarcastic comment but he didn’t expect Bellamy’s gaze to narrow on him so intently. “Is that what you want?”

Murphy broke the eye contact he held with Bellamy, looked back toward their camp and their group, the countless wristbands he’d yet to take but would get, somehow, to keep him by Bellamy’s side. He rubbed his nose, shrugged and looked back toward their leader. “I dunno.”

Again, Murphy expected other boy to go, to turn and leave him to his thoughts and plans, but instead Bellamy pushed him back, forcefully against the tree. “I asked if that’s what you wanted, Murphy. Is that going to get the rest of those bands off? Keep you in line?”

The bark of the tree, rough and foreign, pressed against his back through his t-shirt, pinned there by Bellamy’s hand on his shoulder. He could feel the command of his touch, the power the older held, and how it permeated every action. That was what he wanted. “Yeah, sure.” He smirked up at the taller man, confident even in his uncertainty of what he was asking for.

The mystery cracked a moment later when Bellamy dropped to his knees. Murphy tensed, just at first, the hands on his belt rough and the cool air unexpected as his pants were pulled down without ceremony. There were no words or formalities at all actually, just Bellamy’s warm mouth engulfing him, eliciting a drawn out groan and immediate arousal. He wasted no time, head beginning a steady bob that made Murphy grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut. No way could Bellamy know just how good it felt, he wouldn’t let him know how much satisfaction he actually got from the hot, wet slide of his mouth around him, the way his tongue curled around his swollen head with every pass.

“Fuck.” The curse broke the silence along with any pretense that Murphy wasn’t enjoying this, didn’t crave more of the heated mouth vacuumed around his length. He lowered his hands to Bellamy’s messy hair, fingers grabbing and pulling the locks and as his hips pushed forward, burying his cock in the older boy’s throat with a grunt.

It didn’t last long. Bellamy’s hands were on his hips a second later to push him back and hold him down, pinned to the tree, as his actions sped and he gave John what he wanted. Murphy could feel Bellamy’s fingertips on his hips, nails sharp on his pale skin, digging in to hold him in place with that power that seemed to pervade every movement. He could feel it, strong and firm but not oppressive. It worked with him, not against him, held him perfectly placed for Bellamy to impart pleasure as he saw fit, his reward for a job well done.

As he stood gasping, shaking on the brink of release he knew the that power wielded was his too, shared by the older, imparted with the press of his hands and flick of his tongue. He inhaled, breathed it in, until there was nothing else, just the wet suction of Bellamy’s mouth and the firm grip on his hips, holding him and blurring out the rest of their surroundings with dizzying precision until he came, fast and hard at the other’s silent command.

Murphy panted in the wake of his release and cracked his eyes open to watch Bellamy stand and wipe his chin. He wasn’t sure why – habit, a desire to reciprocate in his dazed state, or something more – but his hands were fast on the fly of Bellamy’s pants. And Bellamy was quicker to wrench them away.

“You want more?”

Of course he did. That surging pleasure, the giddy rush at the sight of Bellamy on his knees in front of him. Murphy nodded.

“Get me more wristbands then.”

It was calculating and stern, but clear and nothing Murphy could fault him on. He hitched his pants back up as he watched Bellamy retreat into the dark, and felt renewed determination. He’d get every last wristband. No matter what it took.


End file.
